


Casual Sunday Afternoon

by Marie_L



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard makes a peace offering, and Valerie gets to know him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lineadecuatro (Maiucha)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiucha/gifts).



> For the Almost Human Fan Con gift exchange! Prompt: Any combination Richard/Sandra/Valerie, domestic bliss (cooking together, waking up together, cleaning the house together, buying a present for someone's wedding).

 Surprise number one about Richard Paul: He can cook.

Not many men – correction, _people_ – know how to properly cook these days, Valerie muses. She can list dozens of sociological reasons for the phenomenon, from modern work schedules to the availability of tasty bioengineered rehydratable meal packs. Cooking from scratch is becoming as old-fashioned as sewing your own clothes or making soap out of lard and lye. So it comes a surprise when someone bucks the system, treats an old-school skill like _chopping onions_ as an art to be mastered.

Valerie had complained one too many times about going home to a lonely microwave and beer in front of the game. But it's still a surprise when Richard invites her over for “real food.” On a Sunday afternoon, just casual, no pressure or romantic awkwardness. Valerie is dubious on that last part; she's heard every coy advance before. But then Richard promises her “the best _puerco entomatado_ north of the fortieth parallel, my grandmother's recipe,” and she's intrigued. Valerie's been meaning to get out of her shell, anyway, and get to know her colleagues on a basis of more than saucy comebacks. Friends from work, why not?

It's a glorious blue August day, clear and dry but not too hot, when Valerie pulls up to Richard's place. Surprise number two: He doesn't live in a bachelor flat. Instead it's small brightly painted house in one of the older burbs, probably a hundred years old, and surrounded by an overgrown but buzzing flower garden. She can't resist walking through the side gate to inhale the roses and honeysuckle before approaching the front door. They're heavy with perfume, obviously old varieties and not genetically engineered.

“Hey, you made it.” Richard waves her over to his back patio, where he's tending a small grill.

“Wow, I'm impressed,” she says, grinning. “Not just cooking, but cooking with _fire._ How do your neighbors feel about this?”

“Great, when I don't burn the neighborhood down and let 'em have some leftover stew. Bribes are very effective community relations.”

Valerie grins at that and sinks down into a chair underneath another portico off to the side. Richard grabs her a cold beer, unbidden, and then tosses what looks suspiciously like meat on the grill.

“Is that … real pork?” she asks. Using live animals for meat has been illegal for twelve years, but still the die-hard foodies do it.

“It's the realest bioprinted synth-flesh money can buy,” Richard says as he flips it with a flourish. “I always suspect they're feeding real pig into those machines as the raw material, Soylent Green style.”

She laughs again at the odd reference. Surprise number three: Knowledge of ancient cheesy movies. Maybe they had more in common than she thought.

Valerie watches him blacken a few green vegetables in a pan – tomatillos and peppers some factoid part of her brain says – then he pulls out an electric device to blend it all up. “Really? A sonic immersion blender is the traditional way to make this dish?”

“What, I'm not a barbarian. This is the way my abuelita taught me to do it, and I'm sticking to it. Although admittedly the grill part might be a tiny bit innovative, I just didn't want us to be stuck in a hot kitchen on such a beautiful day. Come here, anthropologist, and learn.”

She wanders over and inhales the fumes coming off the simple dish. Fire plus almost-meat does make an enticing combination. Richard precisely chops a few things on a table over by the house, and tosses it all into the sauce. Last to go in is a huge handful of herbs and spices.

“See, the key to the sauce is the type of peppers and herbs,” Richard is saying. “ _Those_ are real, the tomatillos too. I could have something like them bioprinted but it just isn't the same. I dunno if those machines skip some of the molecules or what, but my little old lady neighbor grows stuff that's far superior.” He throws a lid on the whole dish and plops down in a plastic chair next to hers, opening up a second beer.

Valerie smiles and clinks bottles with him. The whole atmosphere is relaxed, comfortable. Not what she expected, which, honestly, was something more date-like. She sort of wishes Sandra or some of the others from the station were also here, to get to know Richard too. Okay, maybe John's a bad idea, the two get along like oil and water. But otherwise it would be an enjoyable time.

“So, your grandparents live in Mexico now? I heard you visited.” Valerie asks. “Where did you grow up?”

“Oh, down in Visalia, central California. Middle of nowheresville, let me tell you,” he replies, relaxing. “My mom's parents came up in the nineties, dirt-poor immigrants, worked their asses off for no money to give their kids a better life. The usual story. My grandmother's the only one left now, and she decided to retire to this pretty little village on the Oaxacan coast, not too far from where she grew up.”

They sit quietly, just enjoying the sun and scent of flowers and warm humid air. Valerie can think of about a million questions to ask; some part of her loves to pry open people's family histories, but she wants to be careful they don't feel like a bug under her microscope. But then Richard speaks first: “Hey, uh, Valerie? Sorry about that crack about your father awhile back. I know you're not him, and you're not the chromes' favorite spokesperson. Just wanted you to know that.”

She's waving a hand in dismissal even as he finishes up his apology. Truthfully Valerie barely remembers the incident. Cracks about the prissy rich girl? Standard. “Don't worry about it, Richard. You didn't say anything that a lot of other people don't think too.” She takes a sip of beer, measuring what to admit next. “You know what's weird, though? Honestly I forget about my family sometimes. Especially listening to other people talk about theirs, it brings it home. The chromes, they're – we – can be strange about family. We all know that we're _manufactured_ out of the womb, with many different genes added in. How genetically close to our families are we? Nobody talks about it It's like being from a slightly different species, one where you have more in common with your schoolmates than your own parents.”

Valerie looks away, a bit embarrassed at blurting all that out. It's difficult to talk about, her strained relationship with her father, her mother, the entire family that had pinned all its expectations for the future on her shoulders. She was supposed to be the genius, maybe brilliantly taking over the family “business,” maybe proving her worth by selflessly pursuing science all the way to the Nobel Prize. Something _important,_ not spending her days trudging through social media to catch thieves and murderers.

Richard must have sensed the issue was a sore one for her, for he reaches out clasps her on the shoulder. Not in an inappropriate creepy sort of way, but with the camaraderie of people who work hard and risk their lives together, and need to trust one another on a disturbingly frequent basis. “Hey, yeah. Don't beat yourself up over it. It must be like having a foot in two worlds sometimes.”

_Three worlds,_ she thinks. At least, maybe more: The elite rulers of the city, the chromes, her fellow cops, her neighbors in her “reclaimed” district near the Wall, “natural” friends from college … Everyone lives is so many worlds.

“Thanks,” Valerie says. “Thanks for inviting me over and feeding me. I could use another friend.”

Richard grins back and clicks the beer against hers again, like their making a toast. “Well, I haven't fed you, so don't count your chickens yet. But your welcome. Glad you could come.”


End file.
